


in space between

by antikytheras



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, badass everyone tbh, badass!Yuuri, scientifically inaccurate everything, scientifically inaccurate space, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: Viktor’s given up his whole life to space, and space is what makes Yuuri feel alive.So it begins.(space!au)





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Unbetaed, but rigorously QC-ed (thanks to the Chris to my Viktor). Some alien names were contributed by my friends over on twitter; the rest were the result of keyboard smashes.

At the age of fourteen, Yuuri thinks that space is beautiful.

It’s the only home he’s ever known. He grew up with the sonic hum of engines singing him to sleep, and in his dreams he walks among the galaxies just beyond his bedroom window. Unlike most humans, he has little connection to Earth—his parents had uprooted themselves to chase their dreams of running a space hotel. He had been born on a run-down cargo spaceship, and as he grew, so too did the spaceship. Under his parents’ toil, it had slowly evolved into a homey inn.

He helps out as much as he can. There’s rarely a dull moment, even though business is just barely bustling. It seems as if there’s just enough excitement in his life—the guests who stay at the family inn come from all sorts of galaxies and bring along with them all their eccentricities. Difficult guests are few and far between, so he rarely has to deal with complications. Life is a safe bubble of everyday excitement.

It all seems so very dim under the brilliant light of the cosmos.

Yuuri stares out a window, his armful of fresh, fluffy towels forgotten. From the tiny Hasetsu space inn, the Andromeda galaxy looks like a massive cloud of orange cotton candy.

Transfixed, he allows his eyes to explore the infinite sights.

‘Yuuri, clean out bay four. The Avahaks just checked out,’ Mari’s voice drawls in through the communicator in his ear.

Startled, Yuuri jerks back into the present. ‘Ah, got it. I’m on my way.’

After one last look, he hastens away from the window, footsteps thudding on the wooden floor.

Hasetsu Inn had been deliberately designed to look as traditional as possible. Hardly any metal gleams on the spaceship. Instead, everything is covered in Earth wood, apparently as a homage to the inns back home in Japan.

Yuuri stands before the supply room door, waiting for the sensors to verify his identity. With a hiss, the door slides open.

There’s just enough space for him to walk through the aisles of wooden shelves. To reach the higher shelves, he has to tiptoe. He deposits the towels in their warming pods and squeezes back out of the room.

The supply room door whirls shut behind him.

Cleaning up after the Avahaks proves to be a simple task. So far, most of their Avahak guests had proven to be amiable and unimposing, despite the unsettling number of tiny sharp claws poking out from their exoskeletons.

Yuuri is fluffing the pillows in his last room when a voice crackles to life in his ear again.

‘Oh my!’ his mum exclaims, delight shining through in her voice. ‘We’ve got two Federation jets landing in the hangar. Wouldn’t it be lovely to lunch with human company, for once?’

Yuuri’s heart drops.

He’s not very good at dealing with humans. Most humans have Earth seas in their blood and Earth air in their lungs. Their homesickness for Earth fuels the beating of their hearts.

Yuuri’s heart knows only stardust and deionised water.

He hears his sister squeal in excitement. ‘Aw man, can’t wait! Hope they’re friendly.’

It was different for his sister, of course. Mari had been born on Earth, and she’d even lived there for her first four years. Sometimes, she would confess, she kind of missed it there.

They all do, except for Yuuri.

‘Yuuri, you’re closest to the reception. Could you attend to them, please?’ his father sounds almost proud to have his son serve the Federation pilots.

‘Yes! On my way.’ He clambers off the fluffy bed and trudges out the room, cleaning supplies hovering next to him on a transport bot. Behind him, the door swings shut and locks with a click. On a display over the doorway, an electronic status display switches from “CLEANING” to “VACANT.”

The reception is just at the end of the hallway. Yuuri takes his time. The transport bot keeps up with him easily, so he idly organises the bucket of cleaning supplies. As they pass the reception desk, it turns away from Yuuri and glides to the supply room.

The reception is a small room linking the hangar to the inn. Yuuri settles himself behind the lone piece of furniture in the room, a fairly imposing wooden counter. It makes him look short.

While he pulls out the necessary equipment for checking-in from underneath the counter, the whirr of the hangar door opening echoes in his ears like a death sentence. He swallows, suddenly grateful that the wooden counter hides his shaking hands.

The Federation humans enter the reception room. They look awed at the wood panels, drinking in the uncannily Earth-like atmosphere in the middle of deep space. Eventually, their eyes alight on him. His heart pounds even faster.

Usually, he greets guests with a cheerful but polite ‘Welcome to Hasetsu Inn!’ Now, the words are stuck in his throat.

Thankfully, the humans don’t seem to mind very much. They both look like they’re older than Mari. Both of them have brown hair and brown eyes. One of them is male, and the other is female. The male looks pleasantly surprised.

‘Oh, a human establishment! I didn’t expect to find one all the way out here,’ he remarks to his sister, then directs a charming smile at Yuuri. ‘Your décor is exquisite. Feels just like home,’ he sighs.

Yuuri forces himself to speak. ‘Welcome,’ he croaks. His voice sounds strained, even to himself.

He chances a glance at their faces, desperately hoping that they didn’t take notice. They’re still smiling at him with the joy of familiarity in their eyes. It’s a friendly look, so Yuuri takes a breath and composes himself. He tries again.

 ‘Welcome to Hasetsu Inn. Would you like to stay for the night?’

His voice remains steady and sure, at complete odds with the storm gathering in his mind.

‘That would be wonderful!’ the male exults. ‘I haven’t had human food in _days_.’

The female rolls her eyes. Arms crossed, she explains, ‘He wouldn’t bring the extra bag of rations, even though I told him he’d regret it.’

Her easy-going manner helps Yuuri find his voice again. ‘We provide local cuisine. Our family specialty is a dish called katsudon. Would that be alright?’ Somehow, the deeper he gets dragged into the storm, the calmer his façade.

‘Splendid!’ The male hands over their ID cards. When Yuuri scans them, his hands do not shake.

The names ‘Minako Okugawa’ and ‘Minato Okugawa’ flash on the holo-screen. Yuuri blinks. They’re siblings.

When Yuuri hands the cards back to them, Minato is gone. He’s in the far end of the room, admiring the wood panels. He runs his fingers over the timber reverently.

Yuuri’s heart sinks. So they’re Earth humans.

Minako pulls their cards back from between his limp fingers. ‘Thanks. Twin beds, please.’

‘Understood.’ The rooms for humans and humanoid species are located closest to the Katsuki family area. He books them into the furthest room.

Abruptly, his mum’s voice cuts in, an uncanny imitation of his guilty conscience. ‘Why don’t you put them closer, dear? Tell them we’d like to dine together.’

Mechanically, Yuuri changes their room allocation. When he looks up, he can read the curiosity in Minako’s face as clearly as he knows the stars.

‘My family invites you to dine with us,’ he explains dully.

‘Sure!’ As if his ears are satellite dishes, Minato replies from all the way across the room. He crosses back to the reception counter. ‘We’d love to! What time and where?’

‘The information will be sent to your phones. Would you like help with your luggage?’ Yuuri drowns in the raging storm, letting memory guide him through the familiar motions of serving guests.

On cue, a door whirrs open from somewhere behind Yuuri. Mari’s hand goes to his shoulder. She stands by his side, facing the foreign humans with him. ‘I’ll take over from here,’ she says.

‘Understood.’ The “thank you” remains unspoken.

Mari steps forward so that Yuuri is behind her, as if shielding him with her own body. Yuuri bows to the siblings and retreats to the safety of the alien quarters.

Minako’s thoughtful gaze burns into his back even after the door whirls shut behind him.

\--

Dinner is a surprisingly pleasant affair.

Yuuri ends up seated next to Minako, thanks to his parents’ not-so-subtle table setting. The three largest bowls of katsudon are clustered together at one end of the circular table. Yuuri tries to hide himself behind his giant bowl, picking at the pork cutlets. He feels a little nauseous.

No one notices. They’re all hooked on the Okugawa siblings’ tales of their work in the Federation.

‘—band of space pirates! It was so cool,’ Minato gushes, ‘but after that my firearm license got revoked for like, two weeks.’ His story finished, he shovels three spoonfuls of katsudon into his mouth.

Minako sighs. ‘You deserved it for your awfully reckless behaviour.’

The siblings are impeccable dinner guests. Minato is exuberant and makes conversation easy for everyone. Minako tempers his high energy and keeps him from overwhelming them all. It’s a perfect balance, he thinks, relaxing just a little.

It’s Mari who throws everything off-kilter.

‘I think Yuuri would like to work in the Federation,’ she declares suddenly.

All eyes are on him now. Yuuri almost throws up. ‘W-what?’

‘Yeah! You’re always looking out the windows. I’m pretty sure you want to explore space, just like Minako and Minato.’

What’s going on? What is Mari doing?

‘Actually, Minato doesn’t usually do exploration,’ Minako says, smiling at Yuuri with too-knowing eyes. His stomach twists in on itself. ‘We’re just a little short on space cadets right now, so we had to borrow a few hands from the cavalry. Space travel isn’t for everyone, though. It’s a tough job.’

‘That’s right,’ his mum says, understanding and pride sparking in her eyes. ‘Our Yuuri was born on this ship, you know. He has space running in his veins. He’d make a fine explorer, I’m sure.’

No, no he wouldn’t—

‘I remember when he was a small boy, he always tried to sneak into the pilot’s seat. I always thought he was just fooling around,’ his dad laughs, ‘but I suppose it’s just been there all along!’

The thudding in his head swells into a roar. It demands release, pushing harder and harder until it shatters his self-control. Yuuri slams his hands down on the table, smashing through the jovial atmosphere. He knocks back his chair when he stands.

It falls with a loud clatter.

‘I don’t want to join the Federation!’

He’s never raised his voice at anyone before. Now, he learns that he hates it. Everything is too loud, too disruptive, popping that delicate bubble kept in stale equilibrium.

It’s the hurt flashing across his mum’s face that cuts him back down to reality. Minato looks uncomfortable.

Humiliated, Yuuri storms out of the dining room, tears streaming down his face.

\--

It’s Minako who finds him.

He’s huddled in the deepest corner of the cramped supply room, knees drawn close to his chest. This is his safe spot, away from prying eyes and Earth humans. Somehow, it feels cathartic, some form of release from the indescribable feeling lurching in his chest.

At the age of fourteen, Yuuri has never known home. His home is space, and he knows nothing of space. But he is a human, and it’s an undeniable part of his identity. He looks like a human. He acts like a human. He speaks Common English. At the heart of it, the same red blood runs through his veins as the rest of his species.

But he’s a sorry excuse for a human.

Why doesn’t he want to know his true home?

He curls up, compacting himself into a tiny ball pressed tight against the dusty corner.

The supply room door whirrs open. He hears footsteps tentatively making their way across the boxes and buckets clogging up the already narrow pathways.

Too soon, they stop right in front of him.

‘Hey,’ Minako says, as easy-going as if he hadn’t just caused a huge scene. ‘Wanna talk?’

Yuuri wants nothing more than to yell at her to leave, but something in the back of his mind holds his tongue.

Minako settles down beside him, her legs drawn to her chest as well. ‘There’s not enough space to stretch out,’ she comments.

Yuuri’s shoulders shake as he wordlessly sobs, his face buried in his arms. He doesn’t want her to be here.

‘Space, huh.’ Her voice takes on a different tone, but Yuuri can’t quite place it. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Against his will, Yuuri nods.

‘I’ve never seen Earth, either.’

She says it so conversationally that Yuuri looks up, stunned. There’s no pity in her gaze, only understanding.

‘I don’t see the big deal, honestly,’ she shrugs. ‘It’s a boring planet. Once you’ve seen part of it, you’ve seen it all. Now, binary stars, those are real beauties all right.’ She gives a low whistle.

Yuuri mumbles, ‘I think they’re overrated.’

Minako laughs. It’s a light, casual sound. ‘Yeah. So’s being a clone.’

Yuuri turns his head so quickly that he hears a crack. ‘Clone?’

Cloning is an expensive venture, so most clones are government-sanctioned. Federation clones are almost certainly bred for fighting or exploration, and usually, they end up treated as lower-class citizens.

The stripes on Minako’s Federation uniform gleam defiantly in the bright white lights.

‘Mmhmm. Minato’s got good genes. But I don’t think we really want to discuss my silly brother’s DNA right now.’ Smiling, Minako tilts her head back and rests it against the wall. ‘I might be a clone, but I’m still human. I don’t care about Earth or wood or seawater like the rest of them, but I still choose to call myself a human, because that’s how I feel. My home is space, but I’m still made of the same stuff as the rest of them. Maybe that’s why I became an explorer actually,’ she laughs, wistful but warm. ‘I wanted to find out more about my home.’

Something resonates within Yuuri. It rises like a wellspring, breaking the surface for the first time. ‘And what did you find?’ he asks, cautious.

Her answer is simple. ‘Myself.’

\--

At the age of sixteen, Christophe is informed that his best friend is dying.

Commander Baranovskaya walks into his Monday morning lecture and demands for his presence in her office, now. He’s only ever seen the legendary war chief in holo-videos, never in the flesh. The whole lecture hall stares as he hastily packs up his notes in the aftermath of the announcement, taking the stairs two at a time before he even swings his bag over his shoulder.

It’s a well-documented fact that the commander hates waiting.

He jogs out of the Academy, ignoring the odd looks tossed his way, and begins the trek to the towering Communications offices, twin towers of carbon-reinforced nanofibers and lab-developed emerald sheets. The last time he was sent to a commander’s office, he had been flayed within an inch of his life. Proverbially.

If it had been Commander Baranovskaya, he would have been left with only his bones. Rumour has it that the commander isn’t allowed to execute punishments to cadets anymore, on the grounds of human rights.

Christophe shudders at the thought. He breaks off into a run for the last hundred meters or so, cold sweat running down his back. The front doors fly open with a hydraulic hiss, perfectly timed to suit his entry speed.

He sees a boy standing right in front of the doors with his back to Christophe, but it’s too late to change his course. They collide, crashing to the pristine marble floor of the bustling lobby in an undignified heap.

‘Oh, shit, sorry,’ Christophe mumbles, struggling to untangle himself.

‘N-no, it’s fine,’ the boy stutters, backing away from Christophe, up against someone’s legs. That somebody reaches down to hoist the poor boy up.

Captain Minako looks terribly amused.

‘Yo, Chris,’ she chuckles. ‘Got yourself in trouble again?’

He groans, holding his head in his hands. Thank god it wasn’t the commander. ‘I sure hope not.  Commander Baranovskaya would _murder_ me.’

‘The commander?’ Captain Minako sounds surprised, scratching her head. ‘Think I saw her go up to her office a little while ago. I was just looking for Commander Feltsman myself.’ She nudges the boy he just knocked over, putting him on display like she’s showing off her latest pet project. ‘Meet our newest pilot recruit.’

Christophe grins, picking himself off the ground and dusting his hands. No wonder he looks like a lost lamb. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Christophe Giacometti. Chris for short. If you want, you can call me anytime.’ He caps it off with a playful wink.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Yuuri Katsuki.’ Yuuri looks rather apprehensive, completely ignoring his come-on. Christophe is not surprised. He did barrel into him.

He notices the relief that crosses Yuuri’s face once he turns his attention away from him, but pushes it to the back of his mind. Something to think about later. ‘Beam me up, Captain. Wouldn’t want to keep the commander waiting.’

They cross over to the lifts, their boots click-clacking against brown marble. You could take a photo of any part of the lobby and tag it as the front reception of a large hotel, and the viewer would be none the wiser. Christophe should know. He’s done it a few times.

Unfortunately, the Comms lobby is nowhere near as quiet as an Earth hotel. It swarms with activity. Captain Minako keeps an arm slung across Yuuri’s shoulders, anchoring him by their side. A sea of couriers threatens to overwhelm them, their heli-drones following closely behind overhead. Yuuri is gawking. Christophe wonders where the captain picked up this waif.

They ride the elevator tubes to the top floors. The security camera scans the captain’s face and clears them for entry to the high-security areas. Christophe pushes the button for the Commanders’ office. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuuri’s stunned look at the floors zipping past.

‘Our lifts are pretty fast, yeah,’ Christophe chuckles. ‘The jets are even faster, though, Mister Future Pilot.’

He’s surprised to find a hint of excitement in Yuuri’s wide eyes.

When they reach their floor, it takes a minute for the captain to get them past all the security drones. Yuuri is staring at their huge sub-machine guns with worry creasing his brows.

If he’s honest with himself, Christophe shares the waif’s relief when they finally make it into the offices. It’s comforting to have thick panels stand between them and the death machines.

‘Well, I gotta go,’ Christophe says, waving to the captain and her new pet project as he turns down the hallway leading to Commander Baranovskaya’s office. ‘See you around, Yuuri!’

He hears the boy mumble, ‘See you.’

When the doors open, the commander is sitting behind her desk.

The office feels larger than it really is. Carbon nanotube sheets line the walls, the matte black sucking all the light out of the room. A couple of uncomfortable looking stools gather dust in a corner. Clearly, the commander rarely invites her guests to stay for long.

The commander’s desk takes up a fair amount of space. It’s as imposing as a judge’s bench in an Earth courtroom. Papers and folders are neatly stacked to varying heights, organised with a severe, clean-cut precision. The wall of documents makes the commander appear small, for once.

Said commander looks up, then stabs her gaze somewhere in the vicinity above his head.

‘Two minutes and seven seconds.’ Her voice is harsh. Christophe tries not to wince. ‘You can do better than that, cadet.’

She’s even more imposing in the flesh.

Christophe salutes, praying that his back is at least as stiff as the commander’s starched collar. ‘Cadet Giacometti reporting in, Commander. Apologies.’

‘At ease,’ she barks. Tossing her papers aside, she braces her hands against her heavy wooden desk and rises to her full height. A remote appears in her hands. She aims it at Christophe.

He gulps.

There’s a beep, and then the door hisses shut behind him.

He wonders if this is how trapped animals feel. His own predator is watching him with fierce eyes.

‘You are Nikiforov’s friend, yes?’ Without waiting for him to reply, she briskly continues, ‘He has reached critical condition in ward A-5190. I have granted you clearance for a last visit. Return to the Academy for your usual classes tomorrow. Dismissed.’

Just like that, Christophe’s heart breaks all over again.

\--

At the age of twenty-three, Yuuri is one of the dime-a-dozen pilots in the Federation’s airforce.

He lies awake in an uncomfortable rest pod set up in the middle of a cloud desert on Squilob-6, staring up at the dual moons hanging low in the dusky-blue sky. Even after all these years, he still sleeps most soundly in a wooden bedframe. Metal is too harsh, too lifeless. His preference for wood has stayed with him, even if Hasetsu inn hadn’t.

He supposes he has always been more human than he had first believed.

The cold indifference of the metal finally drives him from his attempt at slumber. He ejects himself from the pod. With a couple of clicks, the lock is disengaged.

Yuuri pushes the cover open. He sits up, stretching the kinks out of his body. Squilob-6 has a gravitational field strength that’s just slightly beyond Yuuri’s comfort zone, and it starts to weigh down his joints after a couple of hours.

Lightly, he touches the communicator in his ear. It’s a different model, but it still reminds him of home.

‘This is pilot designation 8892, requesting clearance for night flight on Squilob-6, Owlnan system B.’

His voice sounds thick in his own ears. The clouds flow on the ground, compressed to a depth of about a metre. White waves occasionally rise up to bat at his face, breaking apart into heavy condensation dripping down his forehead. When a droplet falls from his chin, it goes at an angle, pulled back toward the cloud mass travelling across the land.

A voice comes in after a few seconds. ‘Copy. Destination?’

If he squints just a little, he can see the dusty-red planet peeking out from behind one of the purple moons. ‘Squilob-2, Owlnan system B.’

‘What’s your ETA, marshal?’

He considers it for a while. Blue ozone swims across the sky in streaks, but by the time he gets on his jet, the squall would have passed. ‘One hour, tops.’ The Squilob planets are known for their beauty, so he supposes it can’t hurt to take the scenic route.

There’s a pause, then—

‘With all due respect, marshal, that’s impossible.’

This guy must be new. With a sigh, Yuuri clambers out of the pod and lands on the swampy ground with a squelch. The sea of clouds comes up to his waist. ‘Check my flight records,’ he says absentmindedly, loosening bolts and folding down the pod until it compacts itself into a dense cube. Liquid droplets glimmer on the metal surface. With a flick of his wrist, they scatter back into the sea of clouds.

After an unusually long pause, a new voice pipes up. ‘Sorry about that, Yuuri.’

He recognises Leo’s voice immediately. ‘Oh, hey. Can you get me cleared?’

Yuuri grabs hold of the cube with both hands and, in one smooth motion, twists.

It rotates with a click, like one of those Rubik’s cubes from the good old Earth days, then whirrs with that noise of machinery. Over the years, after many broken cubes, Yuuri has developed a distaste for the sound.

‘Sure can.’ An unfamiliar clicking noise floats in.

Even though he knows Leo can’t see it, Yuuri raises an eyebrow. ‘Is that a mechanical keyboard?’

The cube lights up dark blue, then pops open. A touchscreen device sits snugly in a slot. It slides out smoothly.

Leo sounds sheepish. ‘It was on sale,’ he says lamely. ‘You’re cleared, by the way. I’ve informed Yuri about your early arrival.’

Yuuri taps on the screen, monitoring the readings on his jet. It’s almost fully charged.

‘Thanks. Over.’ Yuuri touches the earpiece and it beeps, deactivated.

Satisfied, Yuuri inputs the code to summon his trusty jet. _Shiva_ had been a little low on juice when he’d landed on Squilob-6, so he had parked her near the closest star to recharge. This was more than enough energy for the trip to Squilob-2, then back to the Zegicho base. In fact, if he squeezed everything he could get out of her, it was enough for two runs _and_ a trip to Phichit’s favourite moon café.

In a rite of tradition, Yuuri closes his eyes, counting down under his breath in his native tongue.

‘Seven.’

 _Shiva_ ’s thrusters would be firing up just about now.

‘Six.’

The autopilot system should be able to plot a course in about five milliseconds.

‘Five.’

His ship would have righted itself at this point. In fact, it should be slicing through the air.

‘Four.’

The nose of his ship pierces the planet’s atmosphere.

‘Three.’

Yuuri hears the whine of his ship’s engine.

‘Two.’

He feels the cloud-sea burst around his feet as _Shiva_ dives toward him, the force of the wind whipping Yuuri’s hair into his face.

‘One.’

The engine purrs as it quietens to hover.

When Yuuri opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the welcome sight of his beloved glacial-white jet. It’s one of a kind, made-to-order just for him. _Shiva_ reminds him of the fighter jets he’d read about in Mari’s old storybooks, except even more streamlined, all sharp lines and very gentle curves.

The swamp concealed by the clouds shrinks away from the intense winds whipping around the aircraft. Beneath the cover, an entire ecosystem of mushrooms had taken root, a sustaining cycle of rebirth as each layer of dead shrooms provided the nutrients for the next layer to grow. The squelch hadn’t been from the mud; instead, it was the sound of Yuuri’s boots smashing through the undergrowth.

 _Shiva_ sinks down until Yuuri manages to grab hold and hoist himself up, the cube reformed into its basic shape and clipped to his belt. He drops into the cockpit and reclines in his plush pilot’s seat with a happy sigh, grateful for the softness after the awful metal pod.

Then he reaches overhead and flips a switch, and he’s tearing through the skies like a pair of scissors through Christmas wrapping paper. _Shiva_ responds to his touch instantly, veering left when he angles the joystick ever so slightly. She’s a joy to pilot.

Yuuri circles around the closer of the dual moons. It’s the larger of the two, a humongous amethyst crystal floating through the night sky. When it catches the sun’s rays, it bursts into a million fragments of light. From the ground, it looked like a large purple iris.

He snaps a picture for Phichit.

The other moon is a less fancy grey mass of stone-coloured sand, largely obscured by a poisonous purple haze enveloping the small rock. What catches the eye is not the moon itself, but the blue rings swirling around the celestial body. There’s a company that makes confectionaries based on discoveries in space, and this moon had inspired an expensive chocolate sphere drizzled in blueberry stripes.

At this rate, his phone will run out of memory space.

He’s orbiting Squilob-3 when the transmission bursts in.

‘Yuuri, do you copy? Oh fuck—’

It’s Yuri, rude and abrupt as always, but there’s an uncharacteristic undertone of fear chilling his voice. A blast of sound barrages his ear, cutting off the transmission.

Yuuri starts to realign _Shiva_. Squilob-2 is right next door, he can make it in ten minutes. Five, if things are really bad. ‘Copy. What’s happening?’

After a brief but terrifying pause, Yuri’s voice cuts in again, loud and urgent, his words spilling over each other in their haste to get out. ‘Don’t you fucking land, you hear me? Mission compromised, code red, it’s not safe, pull back, we can’t—’

Yuuri hears the whine of an energy blaster charging up, then a loud boom. The transmission cuts.

 _Shiva_ shoots through space faster than a bullet from a supersonic rifle.

The red giant looms in front of him, growing larger and larger as he flies closer to the target. He doesn’t slow down when he cuts through the atmosphere, _Shiva_ burning bright with orange flames.

The drop point is a few thousand miles away. He plots a course for _Shiva_ , typing away with one hand. With the other, he reaches overhead for the emergency landing kit, looping the straps around his wrist. He hits the enter key and slams a button, killing the engines.

Inertia throws him forward. His seatbelt pushes him back, knocking the wind out of him and digging into his chest. He grabs hold of the back of his seat and struggles to peel himself off. The escape hatch is at the rear. Tucking his knees to his chest, he angles himself to one side, then pushes off with all four limbs.

He slams against the rear of the cockpit with a heavy thud, the cube on his belt digging into his thigh. Before inertia can drag him back to the console, he reaches out, fingers straining, and grabs hold of the ejector switch, counting down the seconds. His heart hammers in his chest. He’s never pulled off a drop at this speed before, not even in training simulations.

It’s time. He pulls the switch. A metal plate slides out from under his knees, and the wind reaches in to claim him, dragging him out of the jet.

He falls.

Yuuri’s glasses frame extends until it forms a seal over his eyes, protecting them from the onslaught of the wind. Squilob-2 is a desert planet bathed in red sand. There’s little cover, so it’s an awful place for a skirmish.

The Federation had sent an elite taskforce to explore some ruins, after a drone discovered an ornate stone door half-buried in the sand. Yuuri’s mission had been to retrieve any important artifacts and return them to the Zegicho base immediately. There had been a surge in space piracy recently, and the Federation had wanted to lose only what they could afford to.

He sees the massive stone door lying open, and near it, there’s flashes of green light and a group of about twenty bipeds, probably humans. If the wind wasn’t roaring in his ears, Yuuri would have heard gunshots.

This should be close enough, he thinks. Even though he’s going to land right in the thick of the battle, there’s nothing he can do about it. He squeezes the button on the landing kit, and a huge sphere envelops his body, compressing him tighter and tighter until he’s curled into a ball.

When he lands, the wind gets knocked out of him, and there’s a worrying crack from his lower ribs. The sphere shatters into huge chunks of pink crystal, having absorbed the impact of the fall.

It’s supposed to be shatterproof.

A bullet narrowly misses his ear.

Something barrels into him, knocking him behind a sand dune. He gets dragged to his feet, and then he’s looking down at the top solo cadet in the Academy. Yuri Plisetsky is alive.

‘What the fuck, I told you not to land!’ Yuri growls, but he tosses Yuuri a spare blaster.

Yuuri fumbles the catch. ‘I thought you were dead! What was I supposed to do, leave you?’

‘You _idiot_!’ Yuri squeezes two shots. Two soldiers fall, their brains splattered on the red sand. ‘They can grow another one of me! My DNA’s in the history records, for fuck’s sake! Baba would deconstruct me if I killed the best pilot in the whole fucking galaxy!’

Yuuri flips a switch on the blaster, and a long barrel emerges. He hefts the heavy rifle against his shoulder and peers down the scope. He takes out a sniper with a clean shot. ‘We’ve had this conversation already!’ he yells.

Yuri shoves him. He lands on his back, the rifle knocked out of his hands.

A green laser pierces through where his heart would have been seconds ago.

Yuuri scrambles for his gun and shoots. He misses, but Yuri’s shotgun blast takes out the whole group of soldiers.

‘Where’s your squad?’

‘Inside.’ Yuri’s switched his gun to rifle mode and he squeezes four shots in quick succession. Three bodies hit the floor. ‘Fuck, whiffed it.’

Yuuri finishes the job for him.

‘Thanks,’ Yuri says reluctantly. He sweeps his hair out of his face, and only then does Yuuri notice the red glint dyeing his hair.

Blood drips down the left side of Yuri’s face.  Where his ear should be, there is only empty space.

‘Bastard got my ear,’ Yuri explains gruffly. His eyes are sharp and focused, darting around, checking that the perimeter is well and truly clear. ‘They ambushed me. I got separated from JJ and Isabella. They thought I was the easy target.’

A yell echoes out of the doorway. It’s JJ’s voice. Immediately, Yuuri aims his gun at the door. Yuri covers his back, still scanning the area for would-be survivors.

There’s the sound of claws skidding against stone, then a red monster leaps out. It looks like a leopard, only without a face. Instead, it has a visor-like plate over its head which ends in two long, jagged teeth. Three feeler-like antennae sprout up from its forehead, twitching as they sense the air.

It turns its faceless visor toward Yuuri, then leaps.

The quadruped knocks Yuuri over, front limbs pinning him down by the shoulders. Its claws tear into his suit and slice through his skin. Before Yuuri can even react, the sharp yellow teeth arc down, tearing into his neck.

Yuri jumps over him and slams into the red Alvair, but it only roars and raises its head, pulling its teeth out of the wound. Warm blood blossoms out.

Yuri holds on to its fur with one hand, slashing its face with a dagger in the other. It barely scratches the Alvair, which bats Yuri away like he’s nothing but a doll.

Suddenly, the Alvair crumples, crushing Yuuri with its weight. A bullet hole smokes in its head.

Someone pushes the Alvair off him. He recognises Isabella’s voice. ‘Sorry about that. JJ got it, though.’

‘Yeah! There was nothing to worry about, Yuuri!’ JJ swaggers out onto the sand, holstering his gun with a proud smirk. ‘I had it under control.’

Isabella’s the one who offers him a hand, of course. She’s still a fresh-faced recruit, so she pales at the ghastly mess that used to be his throat. ‘That looks bad. You’d better get it looked at, pronto.’

He takes her hand and pulls himself up, staggering to his feet. Frowning, he brings his fingers to his neck. The Alvair took out a huge chunk of the skin on his throat, but the wound is surprisingly shallow. He can feel a small, scratched metal shard pulsing in time with his heartbeat. ‘My _Shiva_ chip,’ he mumbles. He vaguely registers a sinking feeling in his chest.

‘Oh.’ JJ’s smirk doesn’t fall. ‘I’m sure someone can fix it!’

The chip embedded in his neck is a last-resort measure; if he ever loses the cube or gets stranded, all he needs to do is press down on it and _Shiva_ will find him. To have it damaged is like a persistent itch under his skin.

He holds his palm against the wound, hoping to ease the flow of blood. It’s alarmingly wet. ‘I’m taking Yuri with me to Brieoos. It’s the closest medical facility, right?’

JJ shrugs. ‘Yeah, but I’m sure the kid’ll be—’ He cuts himself off, finally taking a proper look at the both of them. His eyes widen. ‘Woah, what happened?’

Yuuri’s voice is tight. ‘Yuri got ambushed. Someone shot off his ear.’ He ignores Isabella’s gasp and reaches for the cube at his waist. _Shiva_ ’s on her way.

JJ crosses his arms, frowning at Yuri. ‘O-kay, Mister Super Soldier, you’re going to Brieoos.’

‘I don’t want to go to fucking Brieoos,’ Yuri hisses. His shoulders are tense, and he’s resolutely refusing to look at Yuuri. ‘It’s a waste of my time, I’ve got shit to do—’

‘Not while you’re bleeding to death! And your ear,’ Yuuri protests. ‘Besides, I need medical attention too, and _Shiva_ ’s fast—’

‘Shut up about your ship already! No one cares how fast it can go!’ Yuri yells, trudging away from him. He kicks the sand vehemently. ‘We’ve got our own ship, and I’m not going to Brieoos. I’d rather die than get treated by that stupid Kazakh.’

Something inside Yuuri snaps.

He grabs Yuri by the shoulders and forces him to look him in the eye. Calmly, he strikes him across the face.

JJ and Isabella gape at him.

He ignores them. ‘I don’t care about your teenage love problems. I don’t care whether you want to see Otabek or not. We’re going to Brieoos. I’m keeping you alive for Gramps. This is a direct order, cadet.’  His eyes burn into Yuri’s, daring him to challenge his authority.

Yuri doesn’t flinch at the blow. Instead, for a second, his expression softens, then he looks away, like an angry cat. Tears glimmer on his lashes.

‘Fine,’ he spits out. ‘For Gramps.’

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/_antikytheras)


End file.
